Page 49 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘Good, so that’s all sorted,’ Cheryl smiled. We’re going to a poolside party at the site tomorrow, with live music and karaoke. We don’t need the car.’
‘You can have a practice drive on the way back so you get used to it,’ Ruby suggested. ‘In the meantime, shall we have a drink to celebrate The Date?’
Atticus watched as a pitcher of sangria magically appeared and Ruby poured three glasses. Taking only a sip, so he wasn’t over the limit, he felt grateful to them for theirkindness and laughed as they both called out, ‘Here’s to The Date!’
A little while later, Atticus eased into the driver’s seat and drove the four of them away from the market and along the main road to Guardamar. Cheryl was perched in the back, with Ness on her knee.
‘Smile!’ she called out, and using a selfie stick, began to take photos of Atticus at the wheel, with the sun shining on the sparkling sea and the Spanish coastline making a splendid backdrop. ‘Send these to the folks back home,’ she added.
Minus his hat, Atticus felt the warm wind tousle his hair and the sun caress his skin. The nimble Fiat handled well, and he waved when he noticed passers-by smile as he zipped along. Casablanca was an easy restaurant to find, and Ruby’s instructions were clear: keep the sea on the left, turn onto a service road, and follow it past blocks of beachside houses and apartments. On the corner lay Casablanca, with open-air seating overlooking the sea.
‘You can park on the opposite road,’ Ruby said, and Atticus duly turned to check out the available space.
‘I like this car,’ he commented as they returned to Solma Vacaciones. ‘It’s very kind of you to let me use it.’
When they reached the site, Cheryl and Ruby said goodbye and headed off to relax at the poolside bar. As Atticus walked back to Winnie, with Ness trotting happily alongside, he thought how far away his lonely life inCumbria now felt.
From the moment he’d found Winnie again, Atticus felt a surge of life as new plans began to take shape. Spain had become a healing process – a place where he could leave his sadness behind and embrace a new beginning. A heavy weight had been lifted, replaced by a feeling of rejuvenation. Clara was still in his thoughts, but he had to accept that she had gone, and he was lucky to have had so many good years with her. But now, that part of his life was over and there was nothing he could do about it. Knowing that Clara would have approved, he questioned why he hadn’t embarked on this journey years ago, instead of lingering in the shadows of his past.
Atticus exchanged greetings with campers sitting outside, and as he walked by, he wondered what Britta was doing.Was she still at work, or had she gone to her cottage?Cheryl said Britta liked to paint, and he pictured her at an easel on a patio overlooking the beach.
Suddenly, Atticus began to panic. What on earth was he thinking? It was madness to consider taking a woman out for a meal at his age. He pulled out a chair and flopped down, his mind swirling with ‘What ifs’.
What if he said something foolish?
What if Britta didn’t find him interesting?
After all, he was just a humble sheep farmer who’d never ventured far from home.What if Casablanca was too extravagant or perhaps not extravagant enough? The self-doubt gnawed at him, making him feel unsure.
The doubts continued as he sat in the sun, and Ness sheltered under his chair. His palms felt clammy, and Atticus was restless as he realised, he didn’t even have hernumber to take the coward’s way out and text to cancel their meeting.
‘I must keep busy,’ he resolved, determined to push his doubts aside. ‘If I stop thinking about her, it will be alright.’ He took his phone from his pocket, downloaded Cheryl’s photos, and uploaded them to his Instagram account. ‘A few more shots for Jake and Arthur,’ he muttered.
He read a text from Mary and smiled, pleased that she approved, as he knew she would. Reaching down to stroke Ness, Atticus remembered that he’d intended to hire a bike. Two-wheeled transport would enable him to get about without Winnie whenever needed.
‘We’ll wander up to the bike shop,’ he told Ness, who began to thump her tail, sensing a walk. As they set off, Atticus couldn’t help but think of Britta again. ‘It’s just a date,’ he muttered to Ness. ‘Nothing more than two people sharing conversation and a meal.’
But to Atticus, in that moment, it felt like the world’s most daunting challenge.
Chapter Nineteen
Autumn mid-term in Kindale seemed to come around quickly this year, at least to Mary. It felt as though it had been only five minutes since they’d returned from Cumbria after the summer holidays, and soon, they would be turning the corner into Christmas and another break. Not that she minded. At Christmas, Conor always took the time off and was a big help with the kids – it was her favourite time of year. She’d wished he could have been with them during the last week of mid-term, but business was brisk in the estate agency world, and Conor had hardly been home.
Mary’s week, meanwhile, had been manic.
With ‘Mum’s taxi’ fully operational, she’d been fetching and carrying the kids from A to B and back again. Finn had been going to a football camp which involved skills development and training, culminating in a mini-league play-off where parents were obliged to attend.Following the funds raised at the disco, Caitlin had been working on the school allotment. As Mary dropped her eldest off each day, she wondered how much lipstick, false eyelashes, and makeup was required to build raised garden borders. She suspected an attractive boy had caught Caitlin’s eye and was likely involved in the project. Maeve, when not posing around the house and pouting into her phone to take selfies, wanted to be ferried into Kindale so she could ‘hang out with her friends’. Limiting Maeve and her mate’s mid-term rendezvous to four daylight hours, Mary prayed she could trust her youngest not to get up to mischief.
Declan celebrated his birthday that week, and at six – going on sixteen – he insisted that friends from his class be invited to a house party. Given the time of year, he wanted a Halloween theme, and Mary spent hours decorating Belvedere House with spooky decorations. The party would take place in the open-plan kitchen and lounge, and Mary found herself up to her ears in cobwebs, bats, and ghosts, which were suspended from the ceiling and covered every inch of spare wall.
Mary’s friend Una had offered to help, but typical of the woman, Una – busy with her own family – was running late. Mary had confided in Una about her doubts regarding Conor, hoping for a sympathetic ear. But Una dismissed Mary’s fears, telling her she was imagining things. ‘Conor is about as likely to have an affair with Lucinda as a priest is to buy a round in a pub,’ she’d said. Una added that Conor must embrace many colleagues during his workingday, and it was a wonder he didn’t come home smelling like the perfume counter in a chemist’s shop.
‘Are you sure it isn’t from the air freshener in his car?’ Una asked. ‘He spends enough time in it; perhaps it’s a new one, installed when the car was valeted.’
‘On his shirt?’ Mary stared at Una as though she were mad. ‘And do you not think I know the difference between Thierry Mugler and a smelly dangler?’ she asked.
Una giggled. ‘Well, obviously,’ she added, noting Mary’s glare.
Removing the last tray of pumpkin-shaped cookies from the oven, Mary arranged them alongside bowls of candy, chocolate bars, and a cauldron of green, fruit-flavoured punch.
